


Never Let Me Go

by Flaminea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, Gen, Grey Wardens, Heavy Angst, Mages and Templars, Mages vs. Templars, Memories, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Slavery, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaminea/pseuds/Flaminea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiona has been fighting her whole life.<br/>First, for her freedom.<br/>Then, for her kind.</p>
<p>When the tables turn and the Inquisition is crushed by the most monstrous of alliances, when Corypheus, the Venatori and the Red Templars are back, Fiona finds herself fighting the harshest battle of her life. Maybe, the one she can't win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for "Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers" January challenge. 
> 
> As the summary already makes clear, it's an AU set into an alternative DA universe. Enjoy! :)

_Memory, turn your face to the moonlight_

_Let your memory lead you_

_Open up, enter in_

_If you find there the meaning of what happiness is_

_Then a new life will begin_

Fiona had no idea how she had actually accomplished that. One moment before, the Comte was weighing on her with his full weight, possessed by lust and focused on tearing her blouse; the moment later, he had shattered her herbal amulet, the only remnant of her life in the alienage, in the process and, as simple as it was, Fiona had decided that she would have swallowed no more. She had been overcome by a vision of the Comte dead on the floor, his heart ripped out of his chest and enclosed in smoking ice. Second by second, that crimson desire had filled her like a raging ocean, and the moment she had laid her hand on his chest shards of ice had actually begun to surface upon her skin. No. Her skin had started to generate ice. Before the slob could even realize what was happening, Fiona had gleaned from years of whipping and abuse and thrust her hand into his chest. Deeper, deeper, deeper until his cries had become of agony, of insufferable pain. Until he had begged for his life, promised her he would have freed her. That had been when Fiona had twisted her wrist to the right, discarding Comte Dorian's heart by its arteries.  
As the hot, red blood of her abuser had started to drop on her and her own heart had started singing in glee, Fiona had realized, in utter horror, that her own ice was covering her hand as well. A frozen panic had almost gotten hold of her before she had realized she didn't want to die skin by skin with her jailer.  
Managing to stop her own flow of magic right before the Ice could reach her heart, Fiona knew.  
Magic had been her salvation. It might be her pass for freedom.

* * *

Cumberland sea was roaring, wild, barely contained by the city's cliffs. Fiona stared right into its eye, into its blue mask. Cumberland sea looked everything she had ever wanted to be. And now she could.  
No more hallways so narrow that the walls almost seemed about to crash upon her. No more nightmares that left her breathless as her awakening, craving for more air than the Circle could provide. No sexual favors to become Enchanter – after all, in what other way could an elf hope to make something of herself, even at the Circle? Fiona wouldn't have allowed them to turn magic into her prison.  
They had chased her all along the coast, but now she was about the be free. Fiona had managed to pay for a voyage to the Free Marches. All she had to do was wait for the sunset, to set foot on the ship.  
Fiona looked into that blue – or maybe it was green? - eye once again. Her first act of freedom, she decided, it would have been to be embraced by the only unlimited element of nature.  
Fiona jumped from the cliffs, freedom's song echoing in her mind.

_**§§** _

Once again, she had been subjected to the Chantry's law. To a human law. Enchained, powerless, she had had to remain silent while the Knight Commander of Montsimmard had requested for her to become tranquil, as he had branded her a dangerous element. She owed her life to the First Enchanter, but he had not been able to spare her to humiliation to be actually treated like a criminal. At the Knight Commander's request, two templars had been assigned to her surveillance and ordered to follow her wherever she may have ventured and to act as sentries at her door while she was sleeping. Fiona hated those Templars as much as, she knew, they hated for not being allowed to join their comrades in the barracks for lunch, or for a quick chat before their shift.

* * *

Day after day, Fiona had been holding her breath. The moment the First Enchanter had announced that Grey Warden Commander Genevieve of Orlais would have visited the Circle with the purpose of searching for a recruit, and would have chosen him, or her, through a proving, Fiona had recognized that as her opportunity to leave her prison. Of course, the Warden Commander had warned them all: the Circle was designed to offer them all protection and a quiet life, while being a Grey Warden meant to live side by side with danger for the rest of the years we have been granted by the Maker. But Fiona spat on the Maker and its gifts, on his concessions and his punishments. No Maker could ever transform her life into something more miserable than what it already was.  
Fiona would have been that recruit. The Senior Enchanters watched her as she kept training, more, more and more, wondering if she had finally accepted her destiny as a mage of the Circle. They couldn't have been more wrong.

_**§§** _

Fiona, apprentice of Montsimmard Circle, stood in line with a dozen of her fellow mage companions. The youngest of the candidates, the only one who wasn't an enchanter yet. To her, it was perfectly clear that the First Enchanter had allowed her to duel the Warden Commander only because he was sure she would have never been able to stand out and catch the eye of the Commander. He had been wrong about one thing, though: Fiona had actually managed to catch the Commander's eye. As she was frantically, obsessively reviewing the spell at her disposal, Fiona recalled every detail of their meeting. Her introduction. The Commander's mistrustful frown. Her fervent plea. And finally the Commander's severe response.

_The Grey Wardens are not a charity institution._

_We are the army. And what good would do to any army a mage unable to follow even the rules of her Circle? I don't need people unable to take orders._

A pang of discouragement run through her body. She was the younger, the less experienced and, probably, the one candidate the Commander deemed the most unfitting: her pining blazed higher than any of her companion's, but, after all, wishes don't make a reality. Fiona stared at Warden Commander Genevieve as she entered the Harrowing chamber. The Commander held her head up high, her eyes shining with coarse determination, her sharp facial features looking even sharper by the tight, long braid of white air. Step by step, she reached the center of the Chamber. Confident, powerful, respected: everything Fiona wished to be. Merely her armor was enough to throw in Fiona's face how desperate her task was. The griffon upon her plate seemed to defy each and every one of them to defeat centuries-old order. The Commander was a seasoned warrior, whose sword had met thousand of darkspawn. A Grey Warden. She had merely killed a man in her short life. The Comte's face flashed in Fiona's memory: his pleas for mercy, his unplanned death, her chains shattering. Maybe, after all, her blazing pining would have granted her desire once again. Maybe, she could prove the Commander that her powers were just what the order needed.

Warden Commander Genevieve unsheathed her longsword. Fiona of Montsimmard looked her right in the eyes and took one step forward.

* * *

True to her word Genevieve had offered her no warm welcome. Upon their arrival at the Grey Wardens's headquarter, she had ordered Fiona to get ready for her training and sent her to the barracks to get her new equipment. As she was surveying the mage staffs at her disposal, testing her grip on each of them, a sound of quick steps nearing captured her attention. No. Not steps. Paws. Fiona turned, only to find herself face to face with a mabari hound. The beast, almost as tall as her waist, was staring at her with intelligent eyes. It cocked its head, without moving further in her direction. A mabari. A mabari was a beast of nobility. The mere thought of being under the same roof with a noble made Fiona crawl back, seeking refuge in the nearest corner. Whimpering, she covered her face with arms, waiting for the lashes the Comte was certainly about to administer her. Trembling, she raised her eyes the moment she felt the rough tongue of the hound licking her arm. A bald man had crouched by her side, a concerned look into his clear eyes. His name was Kell ap Morgan, he was second in command to Genevieve and he swore to not let the Commander know how Fiona had crushed under the weight of her past. When he offered her his hand to help her up, Fiona knew she had made her first friend amongst the Wardens.

* * *

Her bones were aching and her body desperately craved some rest, but Fiona couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. She caressed her son's soft cheek, she stared into his chestnut eyes, she let him hold her finger with his tiny, delicate hands. The moment she pressed a kiss to his forehead and smelled his innocence, Fiona laughed heartily. Finally, she had done something grand of her life. Finally, she had managed to tear the stifling cloak of her past. She had finally understood that not every nobleman was a disgusting slob. As sleep finally claimed her attention, Fiona thought back of Kell and Hafter. Their last run to battle, the unconditional friendship they had offered her since the first glance. If Kell hadn't chosen to go after Genevieve, she wouldn't have been able to love Maric and, therefore, hold her son in her arms. As much as she cared for them, she would have watched them run to their deaths a thousand time if it meant for her to give birth to her son. 

And then the baby's quiet breath turned into agonizing, desperate cries.


	2. In the arms of the ocean

_From the ashes he returns_

_Through the seal of the dark_

_All alone with the memory_

_Of my days in the sun_

Fiona opened her eyes.

Rancid air filled her nostrils instead of her baby's clean, milk-like perfume. Under her back, the hard, damp stone instead of a bed. Reality started to kick in. Alistair had died long ago, while reclaiming the corrupted soul of Urthemiel. Those screams were real, though. Screams filled with pain were pervading the air. And finally, Fiona struggled to open her swollen eyes and look between her cell's bars. 

The woman – no, the Warden, had been forced to get down on all fours, her red hair flowing down her cheeks and covering her face. The Red Templar Horror, his eyes gleaming in red and his veins pulsating, raised his arm once again. The whip hissed, cutting through the air, one, two, three, uncountable times. A cut opened on the back of the Warden's neck, staining the griffon upon her armor with red blood. Three guards surrounded her, like rabid wolves ready to get a bite for themselves. One of them, unable to control his rage anymore, mashed the Warden's hand, snatching her staff out of her grip and broke it in two pieces. The Warden lost her balance, falling on her stomach. In the end, the Red Templar Horror threw the whip away, curving his lips into a satisfied smirk. 

“So much for Kelsya Amell, the great Hero of Ferelden. Such a disappointment” the Horror spit out.

Panting, Kelsya Amell struggled to get on her elbows. Just enough to spit a clump of blood and spit on his boot. A gesture of defiance that earned her a hard kick on her jaw. The Hero of Ferelden collapsed on the stone floor. 

“Lock her in that cell. Maybe once Warden-Commander Dernheim learns of her fate, she will surrender her mages without struggling,” ordered the Horror, pointing at the one beside Fiona's.

Fiona watched as two of the Red Templars guards lifted her up, while the third clasped the anti-magic bracers around her wrist. As they dragged Amell along the corridor as if she was a broken doll, Fiona looked down at her own wrists. For a brief second. A glimpse of rage boiled inside her. A mage is what she had always been, her only true nature. And the Red Templars and taken that, too, away from her. What they had done to the mages, Uf only Inquisitor Trevelyan had not been such a compassionate soul, a firm believer in second chances. If only he had listened to the Spymaster's advice and put Raleigh and Alexius to death instead of conscripting them. Sadly, it was too late for all that. Raleigh had managed to intoxicate Military Advidor Rutherford with red lyrium and convinced him to murder Inquisitor Trevelyan. And now that every superior power had been decommissioned, Raleigh and Alexius were after Warden mages too. 

As soon as the Templars left, Fiona rushed at the wall separating her cell from Amell's and knocked on its stone.

“Warden-Commander?” Fiona called. 

At first, she received no answer. Then, she heard Amell coughing heavily. And once again, silence. 

Fiona started wondering if the Red Templars hadn't murdered the Commander. Sure, she was a tough one, but she had experienced herself the brutality of the Red Templars.

But then, she replied. “So much for my title, it seems. Where have they taken me? Have you seen any of my comrades?” Her voice sounded raspy, barely audible.

The bitterness in the Commander's voice was striking. That woman had been someone whose command any royal had been subjected to, the leader of the army that had saved the world from the Blight. And now, she was but a prisoner in shackles, robbed or her own being: her magic.

“I have not, Commander. This section of the prison hosts.... Notorious personalities. They like to keep us together, so that the more common prisoners are not inspired to rebel by the mere sight of us” Fiona explained. 

Amell coughed again. And this time, it seemed that her breath was really getting shorter and shorter. Fiona was getting anxious for her. She was powerless to do anything for her, to help her feel better. 

“A very important prisoner then. How delightful” Amell finally spat. She then lowered her voice to a whisper. “What's left for us, then? That Raleigh bastard will attack Warden-Commander of the Anderfels Dernheim, asking her to surrender the mages under her command. And I am sorry to say... They can't overcome the Red Templars.. Ferelden's throne is empty, Orlais has been annihilated by its own civil war and Antiva won't come to our aid until it won't feel endangered. As for the Chantry....”

Fiona realized how Kelsia Amell had become the Hero of Ferelden. Fierce but rational, she was the kind of woman courageous enough to face facts. Once, that virtue had allowed her to save the whole Thedas. Now, it may as well throw her into an abyss of desperation.

“... The Chantry can't help us. The Templar Order was her military wing, but now almost every Templar has chosen to follow Samson Raleigh. And even its most loyal believers... are too scattered, and too little in number, to make a difference. The apostate Anders and Trevelyan's failure have turned everyone's against us. Even the Champion of Kirkwall.” concluded Fiona. 

A sudden emptiness spread into her, wounding her very soul. Was there really no hope? Were they all destined to die in a prison cell, or worse, to become Oculara material? Fiona clung to the only thought able to give her solace. Alistair. At least, he had died a hero. At least, he had been spared the horror that the world has become. Fiona envied the woman on the other side of the wall for being the one by his side at the moment of his death.

The silence of defiance crept through Fiona, former Grey Warden, Gran Enchanter and mages' leader, and Kelsya Amell, Warden-Commander, and Hero of Ferelden.

* * *

Along with the others prisoners, Fiona entered Skyhold's courtyard. She looked at the men and women gathered there, imagining how different to one another they had once been. Once upon a time, all those mages had the liberty to choose how to primp, their only restriction was the Circle robe. Now, the Red Templars had forced on them all the same short, ungraceful haircut. Just like every morning, they headed to the day's task. Even that task, the transportation of stones to be used as material to build a second, grand wall for the fortress, had been meant as an insult to the mages: once, these man and woman had lived amongst books and men of wisdom; now, they had become nothing more than workforce. Day after day, they were losing memory of what they used to be. 

Fiona looked to the west, to the tower currently occupied by the Venatori. The Venatori were the only mages that Samson Raleigh tolerated, mostly because only the power of his alliance with Gereon Alexius had provided him the means to overthrow the Inquisition. Fiona had seen it all. How, day by day, Samson Raleigh had earned the Inquisitor and Cullen Rutherford's trust thanks to his good behavior. How Gereon Alexius had started sharing his knowledge and his secrets with the Inquisitor, forging the friendship and the trust he needed to gain spaces of maneuver ample enough to allow him to finally free Corypheus from the Fade once again. The Venatori, in their “mercy”, had even offered a chance of freedom, the opportunity to prove themselves worthy their ranks, to whoever was willing to serve the Elder One. So far, few mages had accepted and even less had been judged worthy of the honor. 

But the Champion of kirkwall had been successful.

In that moment, the tower's door opened wide. Gereon Alexius himself was the first to walk into the sun: behind him, accompanied by two Venatori, were Keyly Hawke and Fenris. A murmur ran through the prisoner at the mere sight of the Champion. Or, as she was now appealed, the Traitor. Utterly unresponsive to that hateful scrutiny, Keyly Hawke walked through the crowd without faltering, not even once. Her eyes were so clear and emotionless that they almost seemed made of ice. Fiona found herself envying the Champion's beauty. Her mahogany, long hair, her luxurious robe. Her wrists, though, were still imprisoned in a pair of anti-magic shackles. Apparently, the Venatori still didn't trust her that much. By her side Fenris, the white-haired lyrium warrior, menacingly held the hilt of his greatsword whenever someone looked at the Champion a bit too long.

Finally, Gereon Alexius stopped in front of the prisoner. A lavish smile rose to his lips. 

“Today,” he began “The woman you all know as the Champion of Kirkwall will have her shackles removed and will be welcomed amongst the Venatori. There's only a single, last test she has to pass. And she will do so in front of all of you, as a reminder of the fact that any of you is welcome to try and take the Champion as an example..” At his signal, another couple of Venatori crossed the tower's door. With them, a prisoner whose face was covered by a sack. The body, however, was the delicate one of a female elf, and her vests were Dalish. The elf girl must have been either resigned to her destiny or drugged, because she didn't resist at all. When she arrived in front and the Champion and Fenris, the Venatori exposed her face to the sun. the Dalish girl squinted., opening her eyes wide upon seeing them.

“Hawke! Fenris! There you are!” she squealed. “I was waiting for you at the mountain shelter. Right where you told me. Then those men captured me, but I wasn't afraid because I knew you would have come to my rescue and....”

The Dalish girl abruptly stopped her rambling. The Champion's icy expression had not changed a bit. Not even a single bit. She was contemplating the young Dalish as if she was nothing more than a chunk of blood, skin and bones. Shivering, the elf girl started looking around.  
Fiona watched her trust turn into anguish. She could almost hear her heart beating faster as she realized she was among strangers, and that the only ones she was familiar with weren't acting as they were supposed to. 

The elf moved backward, only to be shoved towards the Champion by a Venatori. Locking her green eyes with Hawke's, she whispered: “What's going on, Hawke?”

Alexius Gereon took a step forward, handing the Champion a shining dagger. “Do it, Champion.”

Without hesitating, Keyly Hawke wielded the weapon and slowly turned towards the elven prisoner. “Farewell, Merrill.”

The metal slid into Merrill's chest. Her death rattle filled the morning air, a rivulet of blood dripped down her chin. In her green eyes, the bedazzlement of betrayal. When the Champion removed the dagger, Merrill collapsed on her knees. Her head fell upon the Champion's boots, as if she was begging for her life. 

Fiona flinched as if the dagger had taken her own life. In a sense, it had: if the Champion was willing to murder one of her companions, a mage who had fought by her side even when she had chosen to support Meredith Stannard, then they were all as good as dead. Lost without hope.  
Once again, Keyly Hawke didn't falter at all. Emotionless, she turned towards Alexius Gereon and put her chained wrists forward. A red light circled her shackles, and one moment later they fell on the floor, clanging. Keyly Hawke stretched her hands, staring at her wrists. At her freedom. 

In horror, Fiona watched Keyly Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and former Viscount, sell her soul to the Red Templars in exchange for power and freedom.

* * *

A hubbub wormed its way in Fiona's sleep. At first, it was low. But slowly it grew, and grew, and grew until it turned into an actual voice. The voice of the jailer.

“... Magister Alexius has not notified me. As soon as he will confirm that you're authorized to speak with the prisoners I will...”

The sound of a broken neck and the metal echoed into the prison, along the corridor. And from the corridor, the Champion of Kirkwall walked into the cells' area. 

Flabbergasted, Fiona stared at the mage. How could the same woman who had murdered a friend in cold blood a few hours ago have killed one of Raleigh's man? Unsure about what to think and how to act, Fiona didn't move.

The Champion approached Amell's cell, unlocking it. Without a word, she freed Fiona, Amell and Valya, the Grey Warden mage. Both Fiona and Amell, soon joined by Vayla, took a couple of hesitant steps towards the exit. Towards their freedom. When the Champion moved towards her, though, Fiona backed off.

“Is this a trap? Or some kind of test to see whether we're obedient prisoners or not? What's the deal? A richer lunch if we refuse your fake help, the gallows if we accept?”Fiona harshly inquired. 

“The gallows awaits all of us if you three don't move your ass. Fenris has provided a distraction, but we don't have the whole night” the Champion promptly replied. And without waiting for any answer, she grabbed the Hero of Ferelden's anti-magic shackles, which were surrounded by the same red light that had freed the Champion. The shackles fell on the floor. “You didn't really think I would have let you rot in here. Did you, cousin?”

The Hero of Ferelden curled up her lips in a hesitating smile. 

Fiona extended her wrists. She would rather have died while trying to break free, instead of passing another day in that damp cell. 

The more the four mages neared the dungeons' exit, the more the sounds grew stronger. Fiona left the door ajar and a smell of burning wood and straw hit her nostrils. A group of sentinels passed right in front of the door, moving steadily towards the stables. 

The Champion peeped out for a few seconds before slinking away. Fiona, the Hero, and Valya quickly followed, moving from building to building and remaining in the shadows as much as possible. 

Fiona was no fool. She was aware that their own lives were at stake, that if they had failed in escaping their fate would have been worse than death. Still, she couldn't help but listening to her blood singing in awe as her magic was flowing through her veins again. And when she found herself face to face with a recruit and shot a Spirit Bolt right into his throat, she felt whole once again. 

The peripheral gate was now right in front of them. No guards were in sight: the sentries had probably rushed to put out the fire. The smoke, though, was already less thick and the red reflection of the flames was growing dim. In addition, feeble, occasional sounds of fighting could be heard from time to time.

Fiona crouched in the corner, side by side with her companions. “What are we waiting for? What is happening?” Fiona whispered to the Champion.

The human mage didn't reply immediately. She was staring at the darks, her eyes filled with angst and torment. She had definitely thrown away her ice-queen-mask. “Fenris, Isabela, Zevran, Sebastian and Aveline are covering our escape. They will be here any second, and then we'll all leave”. The Champion searched Fiona and Amell's eyes with hers. “If someone like you manages to escape their clutches, we have a hope. There are still free mages. They're only waiting for their leaders.”

“Why are you doing this, cousin? You fought alongside with Meredith. You wanted the Circle” Amell asked. 

The Champion's answer was quirk and quick. “The Circle. Not this monstrosity.”. 

Only then Fiona understood. She, the Champion, Vivienne, the Hero, Wynne. They were all on the same side. They had always been. This time, she would have treasured that knowledge and used it to unite every mage against Raleigh Samson. 

Rushed steps were nearing them. The four mages, tense and alert, got ready to fight whatever enemy could have appeared in front of them.  
Fenris popped out from behind the corner. His armor was torn in several spots, and a dire wound on his right shoulder was bleeding all down his arm. His white eyes had turned into a red blood shade. 

“Run! Now! They're coming!”

“Not without you!” cried the Champion, standing and rushing to Fenris' side. 

Grabbing the gates' padlock, Fiona called for fire. Fire to destroy it, fire to free them from their captivity once and for all. 

“Not so fast, mage.”

Fiona turned. The Champion was only a few steps from Fenris. Samson Raleigh was pointing his dagger to his throat.

“Take one single step outside this fortress, and the lyrium warrior becomes Gereon's toy. Surrender, all of you, and I will spare his life. He will be free, and I will never pursue him again.” Samson Raleigh declared. He looked at the Champion. “It's the most generous offer, considering your treason.

Fiona let go of the padlock and remained still. As much as she wished to be free, to fight again, that one was not her call. Fenris didn't talk at all, but his eyes were urging the Champion to refuse. To leave him, and go. The Champion stared right into his gaze and shook her head. And Fiona knew: they were all doomed. 

“I accept your offer, General” Keyly Hawke said. Reluctantly, Fiona, Amell and Valya gathered by her side, silently signaling their acceptance of the deal.

Raleigh Samson smirked in satisfaction. Then, he sank the blade into Fenris' neck. 

Everything inside Fiona died. That brief sparkle of hope, every dream of freedom. All she heard was the shrieking cry of the Champion.

* * *

Fiona had never really perceived the weight of the shackles before. Once, they had crushed her wrists only. Now, they were dragging her downright into the part of her soul where there was no hope, no salvation, no way out. The sunlight was streaming, oblivious to the darkness growing and growing inside her. She cast a look to the Champion. Ever since Fenris' death she had refused both food and water, she had barely slept, she had never spoken again. Even now, her gaze seemed lost somewhere far, beyond the courtyard, beyond Skyhold. Warden Commander Amell faced the crowd of prisoners in front of them without flinching, as if she had inherited her cousin's illegible mask. Valya, refusing to being subject to that punishment, had killed herself hours ago.

Samson Raleigh walked before them, once, twice. Then, he turned, towards the prisoners. 

“Only a week ago, we have defined the Champion of Kirkwall a model for you all.” He paused. “She still is. She, Kelsya Amell, once known as the Hero of Ferelden and Grand Enchanter Fiona will serve as an example to show you what we do with traitors. Those three women,” Samson pointed at them “have insulted both the Elder One and the Red Templars' authority. They have forgotten how weak the Inquisition was, they have not put enough trust in the Elder One and in his gifts.” He surveyed the crowd, a burning intensity in his gaze. “Soon, we will need no Wardens at all. The Elder One will make sure no other Blight will take place.”

Samson Raleigh gestured to Alexius Gereon. The Magister approached the General: in his hands, the Tranquility sigil. 

At that sight, the Warden Commander dropped on her knees. Her soft, quiet sobs broke the silence.

“I deserve this. All of this. I purposely refused Morrigan's proposal. I purposely sent him to his death as a punishment. This is my punishment” the Hero of Ferelden murmured.

The bottom fell out of Fiona's world. Her failures, her losses, the Tranquility. She could swallow it all. Not _that_. Not the thought that her son had endured that death. The pain clawed at Fiona's throat, clutching her, stealing her life force. 

So Fiona escaped.

She was at Cumberland's cliffs once enough. She was a wild soul. She could see the blue eye of the ocean. She was free. 

Fiona jumped into the arms of the ocean. She rested her head on the soft sand and let the cold, sweet water embrace her.


End file.
